The Dark Side Unleashed - Manhunt
by Zwinger
Summary: A Jedi has been found, and by the Emperor's decree, they must die. Bound to his will, Lord Starkiller will bring his master's desire to fruition, at any costs necessary. It is a dark time since the death of the Republic. But the apprentice has yet to adapt to his new role and is filled with unease. Unused to the trials, he will learn his craft, and come into his own.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lord Starkiller strode into the holoprojector room, walking right up to the central platform. He knelt down before the abyss, bowing his head in preparation of the meeting. The artificial wind nipped at the Sith Lord's bare arms, making the few hairs he had remaining on his body stand on end, but he stood firm. A little wind was nothing compared to what he suffered.

It was a spacious chamber, the holoprojector room, more than twice the size of Starkiller's own sanctum as the technology required to create such a detailed visage of the Emperor was vastly advanced. It had been less than an hour since the Emperor's initial transmission had come through, speaking of an urgent message for his apprentice. Starkiller knew not what the meeting his master wished for would entail, only that it was for him and him alone.

The last of the few dim lights in the room darkened, leaving the apprentice in utter darkness. Silence hung for an eternity in the projector room, as it tends to when the senses are nulled. Even his connection to the force seemed to fritz momentarily, from the sheer blackness. It was only when the familiar blue rays ignited from their holdings on the wall that time seemed to return and alleviate any restlessness. The Emperor had arrived.

"What is thy bidding, my master," Starkiller chanted, in a deep, augmented tone much like his former master. He didn't dare raise his helmeted head an inch from where it hung. He wasn't worthy.

"Rise, Lord Starkiller," said the Emperor in slow, crackling tone. "Face me."

Desperate to obey his command, he raised his head, to find the menacing, hooded visage of the Emperor staring down at him. Like he was scanning him, blue light flickered along the pale, scarred lengths the Sith's arms and refracted off his helmet. But the Emperor's eyes, those vibrant amber gems, accompanied him even in a falsified reflection.

"I am at your command, my master." He clenched a fist and held it to his chest, nodding his head. "I shall obey every last fraction of your will. State what you desire of me, and I will complete it."

The Emperor murmured, raising a hand to stroke his chin. The vibration of the sound travelled through the ground on which Starkiller knelt, creating what felt like an earthquake. But still, he stood firm, for it was nothing compared to what he suffered.

"Hmm, your loyalty to me is still to be proven to me. You have overcome many obstacles, but those have been trivial matters. Now comes your true test. I do not expect you to survive."

"I am prepared, my master."

"Good, good." A soft cackle came from the Emperor, sending shivers down the Stalker's spine. It stopped as abruptly as it started. "My spies have located a Jedi in the mid-rim. You are to track them down and kill them. Extract any information you can from them regarding this 'alliance'." He spoke the final word with a venom that would have been caustic to the touch, like the thing was hideous to him.

Beneath his helm, Starkiller smiled with delight. None of the trials that came with his duties had been challenging enough to warrant him to exercise his abilities to their fullest extent, always being dissenting governors or planetary leaders. Deflecting blaster fire had become a chore, and while he had mastered the lightsaber in his defining form, few enemies remained that allowed for a direct duel; all users of the lightsaber were either dead, in hiding or he and his master.

But this, this was pleasing to him.

However, an odd air had surrounded the man and the hologram. It felt as if something was missing, that the Emperor had neglected to tell Starkiller. He didn't feel as if there was a need to ask, but the question kept popping into his mind. It was almost like he wasn't in control of his own thoughts.

"Master is there anything I must know about this Jedi?" he asked unwaveringly. Shots of curiosity rang through him and caught on his prosthetics, only to be burned into ashes at the will of his anger.

The Emperor raised a hand and held it towards the cyborg.

"Hmm, there is one thing I have restrained from you, Lord Starkiller. The Jedi you will face once worked with previous master, Darth Vader. I felt it unnecessary to tell you of this, so I withheld it."

"My…master?" A sudden surge of memories flashed through Starkiller's mind, memories of a starry black, battered droids and wheezy breathing. He shook his head, vanquishing the visions and turned to the Emperor. "Who is it? His master? A friend?"

"You will find out in due time, my apprentice. For now, head to the world of Pan Olta. Do not allow yourself to be spotted and act with caution and discretion. Only use your men if absolutely necessary. I do not want the target to escape."

And with that, the visage disappeared and Starkiller was left in the dark once more. A second later, the lights hummed into ignition and already the covers on the holoprojectors were closing up. He remained there for a while, thinking on the plan the Emperor had laid out to him and expanding on it with his own. The planet of Pan Olta was a populated place, with sprawling cities and vast expanses of nature. Until the Emperor sent through a data package detailing where the target was, it will be very difficult to find them.

Rising to his feet, Starkiller turned to the exit and strode away. He would need to prepare for the mission to come, decide what resources he will use, what tactics to exploit and just who to contact. It will be a long journey to Pan Olta, but that didn't mean he had time to relax. But first, there was thing he needed to do…

"Captain Ven," he said, pressing a button on his belt. "Set a course to Pan Olta and contact the rest of the fleet. We have an assignment ahead of us."

"Yes sir," came the crackling response. "I'll do it right away."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The ship was calm in the midst of the travel through hyperspace. Corridors and services shafts that would normally be teeming with crew were barren, left to a few subjects and droids tasked with menial labour. They were all distracted with their duties, but upon seeing Starkiller they all scuttled out of the way, man and droid alike. They were no better than prey to a predator, like maggots to an avian beast. He walked past them all, ignoring them and strode into an elevator. He pressed a button to take him to the bridge and the vehicle whined into action.

It was a scarce occurrence for the Sith apprentice to stalk the halls, as he rarely left his sanctum to indulge in common activities. He had little time for it, instead spending much of his waking hours following leads of dissenters and rebels against the Empire, occupying much of his free time that wasn't spent on meditation. Every other moment was spent on honing his skill, pushing himself to be the only servant of the Emperor, whether that meant refining his skill with lightsaber or the force. Then there was the combing through Imperial units and transferring the best and brightest to his own…

As he was lost in thought, Starkiller could feel the elevator slow to a crawl as it neared the bridge. It stopped and the doors _whooshed _open, revealing two Stormtroopers patterned in blue waiting there. They flinched and haphazardly stepped aside, saluting as their commander glided past them. He paid them no attention. They didn't deserve it.

Starkiller strode onto the bridge, crowded and alive with activity as officers and petty officers operated their stations. Chatter filled the air, routinely confirming the functionality of departments around the ship or speaking to each other about vapid matters, walking between rooms with data-pads in hand. But as he strode further into the room, silence spread with him, as heads turned to him, eyes fixated on his pale, scarred arms before swiftly turning away. NCO's operating at terminals, curious at the death of the atmosphere, turned to investigate the cause, their smiles or frowns disappearing at sight of Starkiller. All progress and activity ceased upon his arrival, setting a feeble spotlight on him.

It was as if the entire ship was afraid of him, too scared to give up the wide berth everyone gave him, but there was on who stood out amongst them.

"Ah, lord Starkiller," came a soft, feminine voice refined through aristocracy. "I'm glad you could come."

Standing at the fore like a typical officer, before the fragile screen that separated the ship from the streaking stars of the vacuum, was a woman, petite, fragile, dressed whole in black instead of the standard grey. She was hardly intimidating, even with the extra height afforded to her by the bundled locks of silk blonde hair atop her head. The woman barely reached up to other officer's mid-chests, making them look down on her like a child, which, given her youthful appearance, looked oddly fitting to outsiders.

She looked at him with a confident, simple look, much unlike the men around her, and had Starkiller been anything but indifferent to her, she would have suffered the same fate as his previous captain because of it. Captain Chasta Ven, once an accomplished TIE fighter pilot turned naval officer, assigned to Starkiller's destroyer – _the_ _Damnation_ – as it's commanding officer and the frigates around it, But, unlike his previous commanding officer, she was anything but incompetent, having proven her worth upon their first engagement with the enemy. It would do well to keep her for longer.

Starkiller strode up next to her, large blue eyes following his every move. Folding his arms, he stared out into space with her, as she removed her cap and brushed a loose strand back into its bundle.

"I'm sorry to report this, my lord, but a complication had arisen before our departure," she announced, losing his attention by the second. "The frigate, _The Uncountenanced, _suffered an engine malfunction and could not make the jump into hyperspace with us. It is expected they'll be a few days behind, as-"

"How long until we arrive, captain?" he rumbled, cutting her off. He had no interest in matters that pertained to outside of his mission and could do with one less frigate. The captain cleared her throat.

"Two days through hyperspace, my lord. After that, it will be a few hours before we can make planetfall." Ven brought up her hand and inspected her nails, brushing them against her jacket and blowing on them.

"I see. How is the ship?" He turned his head a modicum in her direction, catching a glimpse from her. She smiled professionally at the attention.

"All departments report green status, my lord, with the exception of communications, who have reported difficulty contacting Navy Headquarters since your transmission. I do not know when the situation will be fixed, sir, but they are working on it as hard as they can." She turned back to her nails, picking at her index nail with a thumb. She had an apologetic expression her face. "The crew is high in morale, but that is all I have to report. I am afraid I have nothing left for you, my lord."

He nodded, acknowledging her words in silence as boredom rose in him. These petty matters meant little to him and the captain knew it too. She'd kept them brief for his benefit, likely filtering anything else that had cropped up from him. He turned from her, focussing back on the display beyond the screen, noticing the atmosphere before he'd arrived had returned. Only the operators in the trenches remained exceptionally quiet, fearful of any wrath that might be given from either Starkiller or Ven.

"Oh, but there is one more thing," chimed the captain, just as Starkiller turned to leave. "We received a data packet holding the highest codes of authorisation not too long ago. No doubt from the Emperor."

He turned to Ven, flashing on the spot. "What? What's inside it? Why didn't you tell me?" He towered over her with the eagerness of a beast about to leap on its prey, bladed hand outstretched. This was what he'd been waiting for.

Clearing her throat, Ven continued to gaze outside while she diverted her attention to the cyborg by her side. "I do not wish to be rude, my lord, but contacting you is a difficult task. Informing you over the comm was not a desire of mine, as I did not want to compromise any sensitive information to spies.  
"And besides, I had already sent a copy of it to your personal terminal and Commander Bow."

She looked to him and suppressed a sigh.

The Sith relaxed, the anger he felt at her words fading as he saw the wisdom in them. He straightened and lowered his arms. Of course, she would wait until he arrived, as it was still undetermined what the extent of the rebellion's resources were. At this time, only his best officers and men of his Fist were the ones he could wholly trust, and that included Ven. He folded his arms.

"I would remind you to avoid testing me, Captain Ven, as you would do well to remember your expendability." He angled his helmet down towards her, looking to pierce her steel gaze. "I may entrust you with more than I did your predecessor, but that will not exempt you from a swift end should I decide so."

The woman returned with a smile, acknowledging the Sith with a nod. Satisfied, he turned back to the screen, Ven following suit.

"What did the package contain?"

"A few things, my lord," she said, adjusting her stance. "Several pages of documents are within the six files that arrived, but the notable items are planetary coordinates, information broking on several individuals and possible resistance to land forces, as well as cultural norms and oddities to expect from Pan Olta. I believe the rest will prove useful reading material in the time it takes to arrive to our destination."

Starkiller nodded and left it at that. But there was an inkling in the back of his mind, a feeling that the Captain was not entirely done with this. With her, nothing was ever simple and the fact she'd sent a copy to the Commander of his legion set up a flag entirely of its own calibre. Once again, curiosity took hold.

"I sense more is afoot. Tell me, what else have you arranged and who have you told."

"There is. I expected you would want to hold a meeting with your staff, and so I informed my immediate subordinates and yours to prepare for a meeting in the next few hours, so you can explain the plan you want everyone to abide by." An ensign walked up to her and handed her a data pad, which she took and began tapping at. "My executive officers and chiefs of departments will be there, as well as your Commander Bow and his four company commanders."

Starkiller sighed, a tinny rumble that echoed out of his respirator. "I never told you to arrange such a meeting, Captain. What possessed you to-"

"Because after every assignment you've received, you arrange a tactical meeting after a few hours with your staff once you've hidden in your chambers for a while. You perform like clockwork and it's only natural I would adjust to your rhythm," she interjected, handing the data pad back to the dumbstruck ensign, who scuttled off like a Beatle.

Starkiller turned to her too, not quite dumbfound, but struck by an odd concoction of awe, bewilderment and irritation. Never had an officer cut him off like that and he had little idea how to respond. His hand itched to exercise his connection to the force, but he could sense that killing her now would be a waste. He could sense she had some more use in store.

"Do you want to die, Captain Ven?" he hissed, just loud enough for her to hear. She smirked.

"I'm amazed. You read my mind with such clarity," she said sarcastically, dangerously pushing her luck. She turned to him. "No, I do not. I only want to do my job as efficiently as possible, like I promised when I was assigned to you. But if you want to kill me for a single act of speaking out of turn, then so be it. But," she raised her eyebrows, "I doubt you'd get anyone more skilled than me."

The two engaged in a standoff, eyes locked in a showdown. Despite the cool head he retained, the urge to strangle her into stillness nicked at Starkiller, rising above the efforts to press it down. The memories of previous commanders remained like decaying carcasses in his mind and the incompetence and arrogance he'd received from them was unbearable. They'd all met a quick end, anyway.

But, Starkiller retained the upper hand and turned on his heel as he vanquished the primal urge. He walked back down to aisle, to the elevators, looking over his shoulder back at the woman.

"I will see you at the meeting, Captain," he said. "Get some rest."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Starkiller stood in the conference room, a circular chamber that measured five meters in diameter, resting against, what could be considered a corner, opposite the entrance. The space was largely consumed by the similarly circular table in the centre, with space enough for twelve different individuals. In the centre of the table, bulging out like a primitive space helmet, was a holoprojector, its innards primed and prepared for presentation. The members of his staff would arrive soon, which would then put it to use.

Sitting within the central superstructure of the _Damnation_, the room was deathly silent. Far from the engines, no sound filled the room, not the hum of the lights, not even the vibration from the generators. A veil was upon the Sith apprentice as he stood in the room, bearing him down and grasping his limbs such that he wouldn't move, weighing them with colourless chains. In the time he had spent between visiting the bridge and waiting for the meeting, he had resided in his sanctum, focused on his terminal as he picked apart the data package sent to him, analysing it and developing plans around the documents. It had proven useful in providing dire information, detailing which region of the planet the target was in, political and societal trends, adaptable means and possible resistance.

Pan Olta was a loyal Imperial world and had been since the formation of the Empire. It was nondescript, with little of note about it, apart from exceptional mountain ranges containing vast amounts of ores and plant life often refined into dyes or other merchandise. Given the ample resources of the latter, Pan Olta became one of the primary contributors to the Imperial economy, supplying material for many of the Emperor's projects. The aristocracy was also far capable than your typical governor, keeping the planet in line with Imperial doctrine without overburdening the populace, leading to minimal Imperial presence. It could be considered like an early Coruscant, with its industrialized cities and expanding population, except life still teemed on the planet and the air wasn't constricted by smog.

But those factors, combined with the excess of mountainous ranges, allowed for a multitude of hiding places for rebels and insurgents. Given its semi-pivotal role in the Empire's economy, it had been a matter of time until a rebel cell established itself there, which it had. But leading it, much to Starkiller's surprise, had been none other than Saw Gerrera, a terrorist in the Clone Wars and no better now. But somewhere in that mix was the Jedi he was looking for. He would cut through their ranks like wheat to a scythe just to find his prey.

Soon, the meeting was to begin and already its participants were filing into the room. First to arrive was commander Bow, his executive officer and the subordinate officers of the battalion Starkiller had accompany him. Half of the men bore exact resemblance to each other; tan skin, brown eyes and black hair, still being final remnants of the forces that made up the 501st during the Clone Wars. Each one was undressed from their signature armour, the blue, uparmoured stormtrooper armour of the legion, adorned in the black of their corps. Filing around the right side of the table, Bow locked eyes with Starkiller, and the two exchanged curt nods before the man took his place beside his superior.

Next to arrive were the ship's commanders, heralded by a broad, stocky man with focused eyes and brandishing a moustache that looked too flimsy on him. The Navigator, the XO of the ship, Senior Commander Robert Vandark. The man was the definition of 'by the book,' lacking the imagination his superior possessed, but complimenting her with his orderly nature. Following him was a slender man; thin, pale and with eyes reduced to smooth pits, rendering him blind to the absolute. The communications officer, Junior Commander Kan Prostu. A man made blind due to a chemical attack on Imperial officials during the early days of the Empire, it had been deemed (and proven) that every cybernetic surgery to restore his vision would be impossible. It was thanks to the device that he created, the neural interface that sat on his temple, that he was able to see again, albeit primitively. After him, came a balding man, aged and withered against time. Marlay Osven, the Chief Petty Officer of the ship. Words rarely ever left his mouth, leaving his eyes to do the conversing. When he did speak, it was as if the man he was talking would be skinned on the spot. Then came the operations officer, a fiery headed, sharp faced man with a personality to match. He was a capable strategist and a brilliant fighter, but his arrogance and stubborn nature grated on Starkiller's nerves. It occurred so frequently that he had neglected the man's name, simply knowing him by rank and last name alone. The question of whether or not the ship would be better off without was a deceptive one, but Starkiller often leaned toward removing him, permanently or otherwise.

Coming in last of all, was the Captain, Chasta Ven. Imaginative, efficient and accomplished with fifty combat trials in a TIE, she had risen to the rank of colonel sooner than expected, catching the eye of her superiors and earning an early position in the Line. There was no doubt she could achieve anything set before her, as had been proven in many missions before. Her appearance often presented the impression that there was little to her, surprising other captains once they met personally. She sauntered around the table, taking her place at the seat to Starkiller's left. The naval officers took their seats. Finally, the briefing could begin.

"Lady and gentlemen, you have been summoned to discuss an assignment afforded to us by his majesty, the Emperor," he began, pressing a button on the table. The holoprojector buzzed into life and a blue transparent shape flickered into existence. The image of a paper document appeared over the table, slowly turning on its axis. "This mission, delivered some hours ago, tasks us with finding, uncovering and executing a traitor as the prime objective."

He pressed the button again and the image changed to display a blue planet, marked primarily with massive landmasses interspersed with mountains. A few oceans dotted the surface, pitiful in scale to the ones on Corellia. Strolling behind the naval officers, Starkiller pointed towards the image. "You are all familiar with Pan Olta, so I shall keep this brief. The planet is loyal to the Imperial cause, serving as one of many major sources of metals and metallurgy. The planet's population consists of two dominant species; humans and the Rasut. Together, they reach a total of 20 billion, with humankind maintaining the dominant position. Migration to the planet is low, making the population entirely homogenous. But this, works to our favour."

As he reached the end of naval officers, he could already sense the eagerness of the young officer as his arm shot into the air, irritation beginning to bubble in anticipation of the questioning. He turned and saw the fiery officer holding his hand up.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked. The hand dropped and the man leaned forward.

"Lord Starkiller, I appreciate the time you take to remind us of these trivialities, but we're wasting that time with your lecturing. Could you please move onto the mission itself, now?" he asked humourlessly, attracting every eye in the room onto his person. Unbeknownst to them, a small twitch flicked at the corner of his mouth, a gesture which Starkiller, and perhaps Bow and his men, spotted.

"It will be revealed, lieutenant. As an officer, patience for these things should be a virtue," he said softly, flexing his fingers. Reaching out with the force, he depressed the button on the other side of the table. The image changed again, showing a closer image of a flat region blockaded by mountains. Several towns and cities dotted the place, but the remaining space was taken up forests, plains, a single pond and a wide ravine dividing the region in two. Of course, it was only a matter of time until it was all replaced by the former. "This is the Du Anull region, known for its mining and manufacture industry. Each settlement is densely populated, containing several hundred thousand beings per square lot. Minerals are transported from the mines in the mountains to the city via high-speed train. Once in the city, these trains become very high-value targets for acts of terror."

He reached out once again and again the image changed. This time, instead of displaying land, it displayed a Togruta, unmistakable by the montrals atop their head. The portrait ended just below the shoulders. Starkiller leaned on the table, noticing Bow take an immediate interest in the image.

"Our mission is a manhunt. Our target is a Jedi. Name: Ashoka Tano. Our objective, to kill her and ensure no rebel presence remains on Pan Olta." He pushed off and continued his stroll around the table. "A member of this 'rebel alliance,' she was once a Padawan in the Jedi order and a hero of the clone wars. Before the end of the war, she was exiled by the order and little has been heard of her since. Until now.

"Three months ago, she reappeared and began attacks on Imperial targets in the mid- and outer-rim. Imperial Intelligence suggested she was working alone, but there is evidence that she had colluded with others, one such example being Hondo Onaka. Then, she disappeared and only the Bureau knew she existed.

"Her motives are unknown, and the Bureau is unable to find her consistently as she jumps from planet to planet. However, for some reason beyond them, she has located to Pan Olta and has since joined forces with Saw Gerrera and his band of Partisans, committing several devastating attacks against the industry and nobility and turning the populace against the local order."

He arrived at the other end of the table and leaned on it. "As well as Tano's crimes against the Empire, it is also necessary we deal with this Partisan issue, too. It's unknown what either individual's ultimate objective is, or why they are on planet, but one thing is clear – Tano must die and Gerrera's terrorists must suffer the same fate or be crippled to allow the local authority to finish the job.

"Given that much of the populace is homogenous, it will be easy to find and uncover her. But there is more."

He pressed a button and the image changed for a final time. A plan of the capital of the region appeared, great in detail. "The plan is a two-prong operation. I will begin by landing in the city using my personal starship. Afterwards, I will explore on foot and meet with an informant in the south-eastern quadrant. They will provide information that was not disclosed in previous data. After the location of the primary target has been confirmed, a detail from the 501st Legion will deploy to the city and lock down all major escape routes. Commander Bow, if you please."

Bow, eager to speak, nodded to Starkiller and stood up.

"Thank you. The operation will be straightforward," he began, his unique Concord Dawn accent settling smoothly across the room. "Upon Lord Starkiller's confirmation of the rebel's location, the battalion will land as close as possible and converge on the site. Companies two and three will maintain a defensive perimeter and block off all escape routes in the surrounding district. Company one will perform the first wave while company four will stay in reserve as the second. Do you approve, lord Starkiller?"

"I do, commander. Well done."

Smiling, Bow made a small bow and continued. "However, it's still unconfirmed, but reports have suggested that the rebels may possess some fighter craft in the form of X-Wings. I doubt it will be an issue, but Captain Ven, we will need some TIE fighters to be on standby in the event they are needed."

Starkiller looked to the captain, finding her slumped in her chair while she rested her head on hand. Lazily waving a hand, she stifled a yawn and said, "A squadron will be ready should you need it, commander, but don't expect it to arrive when you order it to. Unless we're in atmosphere, you will need to wait twenty minutes for arrival."

"I understand captain. I'll remember that." Bowing again, he turned to Starkiller. "That is all, my lord."

"Thank you. You may sit."

The man obeyed, lowering to the table. Switching off the holo-display, darkness filled Starkiller's vision for a second, as his eyes readjusted from the bright blue they'd been focusing on. Around the table, a couple of yawns emerged, from the Captain and her XO. They both looked tired, as did the operations officer. Hyperspace was a dimension of effects that proved different for everyone, affecting each in their own way.

"That is the mission," Starkiller declared, brightening the dim lights. "I will depart as soon as we arrive, at which point I will want the _Damnation_ and the fleet to remain in an orbit that prevents it from being detected by scanners the rebels may have. Commander Prostu." At the mention of his name, the man turned his head in Starkiller's direction, but avoiding him directly. Had Starkiller been any normal, it would have been unnerving to have his attention without seeing his eyes. "I want you to contact the planetary governance and inform them that the fleet is anchoring here because of an insurgent presence. Inform them of only the most elementary details about our operation. We do not want them interfering nor constricting us with petty laws."

"I understand, lord, I will do that at the next opportunity. But there is one worry of mine." The man spoke in a hoarse, raspy tone, results of the chemicals infiltrating further into his body. "Shouldn't we also try to extract information about the rebels from this Jedi? Given her status, it's only natural that someone like her would be awarded with a position like that, not to mention the location of possible Jedi artefacts or hidden temples."

Putting a hand to his chin, Starkiller couldn't help but feel himself agree with the man. After all, it had been the will of his master to attempt to glean information from the targets. But, as he learned more of the situation from the documents, that prospect had diminished. Too many variables were at play with this one, too many to count. The Partisans would prove troublesome to deal with and Tano herself was acrobatic, more so than Starkiller in his prime. It was easier to just kill her and take the gathered information as an added bonus.

But before he could explain his thoughts on the matter, a scoff came from across the room. Looking up discovered Jun with a disapproving expression on his face, sitting obtusely in his chair. He was shaking his head, eyes locked on Prostu as he spoke.

"Commander, I respect your opinion, but wasting time on interrogating a traitor is not only a show of weakness, it's an admission that their cause is correct and allows them the window to escape. I cannot agree with your proposition, nor can I support with anything I have."

Sighing, Prostu bridged his hands before him and turned to the younger officer. Even without eyes, it was clear the aura around him grew thick with tension, turning the air purple. "Well I disagree with you, Jun. How else are we supposed to learn anything from our enemies if we don't speak to them? It's an art of war to know the enemy as well as you know yourself."

Sucking his teeth, Jun rolled his eyes. He sat forward, slamming his fist into the table. "They have technology, don't they? They'll have files, documents, conversations with their friends. If they have those, we can glean everything they knew from their belongings. We don't need to waste that time!"

"Yes, that is a good point. But, wouldn't it be quicker to just ask them what they know?"

"Hah! Please, if you're that hell bent on having a friendly chat with them, why don't you just learn some of our guest's hokey sorcery and wave a hand in their face?" He smirked at the man, looking like he was on the verge of laughing. Starkiller focused on him, as did the Chief Petty Officer. His hand twitched.

"I would not discredit the powers of the force, Lieutenant," Starkiller said, the metallic rasp of his voice silencing the room. "It is more powerful than you realise and can achieve much more than anything you wield."

From Jun, all eyes refocused on Starkiller, setting a spotlight on him as the officer responded. "I doubt that, m'lord. What can your _force_ achieve that a fighter squadron can't, what a Star Destroyer can't? I have little time to believe in your hooey practice, _Starkiller_, do not expect me to become empathetic to them either."

Every muscle in Starkiller's body tensed and he felt his hand clenching. Sensing the danger, Vandark rushed to his feet and turned to Jun, daggers in his eyes. "Ratel, by God, shut your mouth. You do not speak to a servant of the Emperor with that behaviour," he said frantically, turning to the Sith and bowing his head. "My lord, please, understand that he still has a lot to learn. I'm the one at fau-"

"Do not speak for me, Commander, I'm old enough to know what I'm doing," Jun rudely interjected. "I am an officer of the Imperial Navy, not some cadet in the academy. And unlike all of you, I'm not afraid of some parlour tricks from long forgotten cults. It had been the hard work of the mind we have achieved this Empire, not a barely understood fals-… hoo-…ack!"

The officer choked on his words, a look of distress flowing over his features as he gasped for air. He reached for his throat, pulling at the collar in desperation. Everyone shot a confused, bizarre look at the man as they wondered what had silenced him so. They turned to the cause, that being Starkiller.

Signifying the sudden silence, Starkiller held his hand out, strangling the air before him. The end of his tether had been reached with the man and the Sith had reached out to constrict his airflow. This was what his predecessor had dealt with frequently, a curse which had passed onto him. The ire that bubbled within him popped like a pool of lava, each orifice soon to burst with molten hate. He concentrated his emotion into his stranglehold, tightening it further.

"Lord Starkiller, wait a second, reconsider," came Vandark's voice, distant and faded. He ignored it, squeezing more as he continued with his action.

He had already established his standards with seven dead captains under his command, all suffering the same fate. The conference room erupted into a minute chaos, the naval officers trying to rescue their friend while the stormtroopers called for a medic. Osven sat silently amidst it all, shaking his head at the immature officer. He had seen plenty to understand the consequences of insulting the Sith.

"Lord Starkiller, that's enough," Ven said sternly, hardly moved from her seat. Starkiller once again ignored her. She could do with one less officer.

"Starkiller, stop it," she shouted, jumping up and grabbing his forearm. The sensation of the soft, small hand meeting his skin snapped him out of the trance he'd been in, severing his concentration and releasing his grip on the operations officer.

The man fell into his chair, breathing heavily as he caught his breath back. Returned to the present, Starkiller saw all the eyes that had piled on him, worry, caution and suspense present in all. All, except of course, in the Captain's, which brimmed with determination and annoyance. Oddly, it was pacifying, seeing her like this, but there was frustration that still remained. He looked down at his arm, seeing the small appendage and the contact it had made.

"Tch." He snatched his arm out of her grip, straightening up. "This meeting is adjourned. Dismissed."

One by one, the officers rose from their seats and filed out of the room. Jun was the first to leave, eager to get away from Starkiller after the stunt. Then went the naval officers, Prostu taking charge while Vandark stayed behind, looking as if he wanted to speak before turning on his heel. Last to leave were the Stormtroopers and Osven, each one paying their respects as they left.

But Ven remained, sitting in her chair as Starkiller observed the screen set in the table before him. He ignored her, knowing full well what she was remaining there for.

"Permission to speak, my lord?" she enquired, as politely as possible yet still underlaid with aggression.

"Permission denied," he said coldly, fixated on the pad. There was nothing for her to say that he didn't know already.

"I understand."

She rose from her seat and departed from the room, back to the bridge or her quarters. It didn't matter, as more important matters were afoot.

But before she left, she halted in the doorway, grating on his nerves more. Without turning, she spoke to him, in a soft, compassionate manner.

"I'm sorry. I'll punish him in due course, my lord."

Then, she left and Starkiller was left in the conference room, alone, ireful and with only the silence bearing down on him.

…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Rogue Shadow was nearly complete. The teardrop shaped craft rested in the hangar of _the Damnation_; its similarly shaped wings folded towards the ceiling. The black, asymmetrical ship had suffered much during the apprentice's tenure under Darth Vader, but since its untimely destruction at the hands of the Emperor, at Marek's mistake, it had seen little use since then. Having spent most of its time within a workshop, whether on the yet to finish Executor or his own, unnamed science vessel, the ship had only collected dust as it's bones, veins and flesh were recrafted. It had taken many months, relegating the apprentice to using Star Destroyers with arrogant commanders as his coach, but now it was ready to fare the stars once more. Granted, it did lack required systems, such as a hyperdrive, but that could wait.

Starkiller watched from afar as hangar workers and droids checked the ship; inspecting the hull, running diagnostics and loading much needed supplies onto it. As the crew continued, the apprentice ran a finger along his bare arm, feeling a shiver wriggle up his spine at the sensation. Fragments of the previous vessel remained yet under his flesh, reminders of his past failings, mistakes that could have been avoided with that bit of restraint. At times, whether in his sanctum or elsewhere, he would reminisce about the times and friends he had possessed, sinking into a pit of despair. And he would remember, as the Emperor's words that were uttered to him upon his awakening returned, that he was forever bound a slave, chained and incapable of freedom. One day, somehow, he would be replaced by another specimen, a fascination of his master's and he would be tossed aside, much like his predecessor. Fear was a constant of that reminder, fuelling his determination to always maintain his position. But that would not be soon, thankfully.

It seemed that the Emperor had no interest in Tano becoming his apprentice, deeming her no better than waste. She would be found, hunted and killed and Starkiller would remain by his side. Relief flowed over the Sith at that realisation, as it meant his time had not come yet. It had been declared in their conversation that she was to die, but even so the doubts still remained. He wanted to get this done as swiftly as possible and leave that planet.

But, what if there was a chance he could convert her?

That was appealing. The idea and promise of a possible apprentice, like his predecessor had, seduced Starkiller with every ounce of its hook, lure and sinker. If he could turn her, he could train her, mould her into his own weapon and use her to help him break his chains. It wasn't the best of his options, but out of every possible move he could make to freedom, it was by far one of the few that could work.

In the midst of his scheming, he sensed a presence approaching from behind, exuding an aura of might and obedience. But it was weaker compared to others. They continued until they were a foot away, at which point they halted, and the faint clapping of heels reached his ears. They had attempted a stealthy manoeuvre but failed to overcome their military instinct. He knew who it was and suppressed a sigh.

"What is it, Captain?" he asked, knowing her playful attitude.

A hint of hesitation came from the officer as Starkiller revealed her presence, but it was soon replaced with an easy heart.

"Nothing, my lord," she said. The woman walked up next to him, confidently clapping her heels now she was exposed.

As they stood in silence, watching the work take place around the Rogue Shadow, Starkiller glanced at the woman curiously. She stood confidently, with her shoulders back, spine arching and hands clasped behind her. Her eyes remained focused and her expression exhibited no change as he made subtle adjustments, clacking his knives together. At times, it amused the apprentice how small the captain was and yet she didn't react with the same forms of fear other officers had. Perhaps it was because of her fighter pilot history? She would have been hardened by the trials set out before her, as evidenced by her somewhat impressive record, so that in a way divorced her from the other line officers. It was a wonder how she ever reached the pedals, though.

Starkiller turned from her, focussing back on his ship. He shouldn't be concentrating on his staff like this, else he'll be distracted from his mission.

It had been a day since the briefing, with much to prepare for the coming operation. A disguise was needed, to conceal the apprentice from prying eyes, which had to blend into the culture and fashion of the planet. Armour, fabric and accessories had all been chosen and Starkiller was ready to depart as soon as the ship arrived. However, as soon as the fleet arrived in system, a hyperdrive malfunction presented itself and _the Damnation_ was forced to stop in the outer edges of the system, two planets away from the target itself. The cause was unknown, and the engineers estimated it would take several days to repair it. Starkiller cursed his luck and the ship for its unreliability. He was to now take his ship from this point and travel the rest of the distance to the planet, where he could begin his operation.

"When do you leave?" Ven asked politely. She'd turned to her nails once again, inspecting them like a Grand Moff to a battleship. What was the point of that?

"Tonight," he replied. "Once the ship is ready, I will perform checks of my own. When that is done, I will depart immediately."

"I see." She nodded, approving of the plan. "But then, who would you have to fly the ship? One of the pilots here?"

Starkiller scowled at the suggestion but knew it to be valid all the same. That was one component the Rogue Shadow was missing; a capable pilot. Since the beginning of its reconstruction, the Sith had scoured the ranks of pilots in the navy, looking for one that could match up to…her, and assign them as the pilot. But, as time went on and the ship grew fuller, few matches could be made and those that did failed to meet expectations. Those that could have filled the role were either retired or working another profession in the military.

"No, none of them are of the standard I'm looking for," he said, walking to the ship at the signal of one of the workers. "I will pilot it myself, as I have done previously."

The captain followed, agreeing once more. "I understand, my lord, but I have a worry. You are by no means an ace pilot, what will you do if you're engaged by fighters?"

"I will manage," he said coldly.

"Yes, I understand, but surely it will be better to have your ship at your beck and call, that it can be looked after while you are on foot?" she suggested, losing her breath as Starkiller quickened his pace. She began to pant as she struggled to keep up. "With a pilot, you can…adjust your plans on…the go."

Starkiller halted, abruptly stopping before the crates that surrounded the craft. Ven, caught up in trying to keep up, didn't notice the sudden change and almost crashed into Starkiller, saving herself before a collision. She took a step back and took a deep breath.

Starkiller spun around to face her, finding her red faced and panting. He gave a minute to recuperate, to catch her breath, before he spoke to her.

"Then, what do you propose?" he asked, folding his arms.

Recomposed, the captain straightened up, assuming her usual posture. "Let me fly the Rogue Shadow. I can do it, no matter how many years I've spent away from a cockpit. I'm the best pilot on this ship and one of the best in the Empire, after all. I'm no Eclipse, but I can still fly better than most of the squadrons here combined."

Intrigued by the proposition, Starkiller cocked his head. But…

"Who will captain the ship?"

Ven laughed, a small giggle in the back of her mouth. The response irked him, but he let her have her moment. "Please, my lord, you give me too much credit. My Navigator is not as incapable as you might think and can run the ship in my absence to an acceptable standard. The fleet will be safe in his care, too.

"Besides, I think you'll need someone who's familiar with the culture on the planet," she said with a smirk. Confidence exuded from her, demonstrated by her cocky expression. She stepped closer and looked Starkiller in the eye.

"What if I do not trust you?"

She smirked, not moving an inch. "My lord, I have spent four months working under you, handling your personal documents and knowing many of your most secretive missions. If you do not trust me, then you won't trust any other pilot you find." She raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you?"

He stared at her, mulling over her argument while he studied her. She made a fine argument, and it was true that he trusted her, to a modest extent, but there was something else to it. Her desire appeared more selfish once he stepped back from them. She was doing it less out of pleasing her superior and more in the vein of leaving the ship. He assumed she must want to breathe real air for once.

"Pack your belongings, captain. As of this moment, you are my new pilot for the Rogue Shadow. Congratulations." He placed his robotic hand on the woman's shoulder, then the other. She looked confused at the ritual, but endured it, nonetheless. "Do not lose your head."

"Thank you, m'lord." She performed a curtsy, dipping her head low. Entertained by the action, Starkiller turned on his heel, but didn't depart. Once again, there was something else she was keeping from him. A question, or a suggestion, but what?

"Do not think you can hide your thoughts from me, captain Ven," he said. "Tell me what it is you want to ask. I will listen."

A rare hint of hesitation came from the officer as the apprentice's order surprised her. She went quiet, amidst the bustling work of the crew nearby. The chief engineer stood nearby, waiting for Starkiller's attention to shift to him.

After a moment, the hesitation present in her vanished, replaced by a bold dedication. "I've a suggestion for your ground operation sir," she began optimistically. "So long as you approve, I have ordered Lieutenant Jun to prepare for departing with us and acting as your aide."

"I do not need that arrogant fool to join me, captain," he declared, swinging round and pointing a knife-tipped finger in her face. "He will only slow me down and get in my way. What good can he serve off a ship?"

Defiantly, Ven stood her ground, ignoring the finger in her face. "My lord, he may appear aloof, but that does not subtract from his talent in a fight. You may not know this, but Ratel comes from nobility and a family that's ardent about preparing for war and combat. Whether with a blaster or a vibro-blade, it's rumoured he can fight just as well as a Jedi or Sith could." She removed her cap, holding it to her chest. "Granted, he lacks the experience like your troopers do, but his skill more than makes up for it. It's something I can vouch for, after all.

"Also, I figured it would make a fine punishment for the man," she said, averting her gaze as she adopted a sheepish look.

Withdrawing his hand, Starkiller scowled at her. Once again, her argument broke through his defences and wormed its way into his mind, where it sat and manipulated him. A second pair of hands down in the city would help him greatly, and if there was an occasion he needed to retain his lightsabre, he could send the Lieutenant in.

Then, those rumours could be put to the test. If he could destroy foes half as well as Starkiller could, then it would be true. If not, he would die. It would be a win if the latter were to happen.

"Very well, tell him to prepare a disguise and any weapons he may need. We leave tonight."

Turning on his heel, Starkiller departed from the captain and began up the ramp with the chief engineer.

…

The Rogue Shadow hummed as it's heart reignited, a warm-up for the engine after sitting immobile for so long. As it grew warmer, vibrations travelled through the ship, increasing in frequency until it reached a critical mass and balanced out from there. Dust that had settled on the walls broke off in a shower of grey and brown, resettling in the corners. Once more, the old girl was thriving, the thrusters roaring with the heart of a rancor.

Starkiller walked into the cockpit, the doors whooshing shut behind him. Already at the helm, dressed in her black dress, was her new pilot, turning to face the arrival. The console before her glowed with activity, as buttons blinked and readouts shifted, indicating different states of readiness. The buzzing and beeping of equipment filled the air, signs that everything was operating as intended.

As Starkiller walked up the console, Ven followed him with her eyes, turning back to the screen as he reached it. He took the seat next to her, facing the screen.

"Are we ready?" he asked. Ven nodded.

"Affirmative, my lord. Diagnostics have finished and the ship is ready to depart." She reached up, failing to reach switch to flick. She stood up and closed the gap. "We await on your signal."

"I see." He leaned forward. "Is the Lieutenant aboard?"

"Aye sir, he arrived before you did. Bags packed and everything." She turned to him. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he said dourly. "Well then, let's go, captain."

"Roger."

Pulling on the controls before her, the Rogue Shadow jerked, groaning as it resisted. Slowly, but surely, it began to rise from the ground, adding a strange feeling of weightlessness to Starkiller's stomach. The ship tilted back, the rear being heavier than the front, and Ven responded by dipping the nose forward. The ship balanced out and Ven slowly hovered over to the twinkling void to their right.

"Control, this is captain Chasta Ven of the Rogue Shadow, requesting permission to depart over," she said, pressing the communications device as she spoke. A moment of silence endured as the response pended. The ship drew closer to the hangar exit, stirring worry. The shield was still up and if it didn't lower when they reached it, they would bump right into it.

A crackle emerged from the device and relief flowed over the captain's face. "Affirmative, Rogue Shadow. Lowering the containment shield," came the heavy voice of chief petty officer Osven. "Good luck, my lord, captain."

"May the force be with you, Osven," replied Starkiller, eliciting a raise of Chasta's eyebrow.

The ship passed through the barrier unscathed, entering the vacuum for the first time in a year. The ship pushed itself away from _the Damnation_, the smaller frigates circling the ship coming into view. One frigate, _the Crackle_, hung especially close to the Rogue Shadow, resting above them. Starkiller watched the sight passively, while Ven was almost jumping out of her seat.

"Captain, can you please take your sea…"

"It's one thing to watch your ships from the bridge, but it's another thing entirely to watch them from a starship," she said, breath taken by the sight. Starkiller waved a hand at her, refocussing her attention. She snapped out of the trance and blushed. "Ah? Ah! I'm sorry, lord, forgive me."

She continued the departure from the hangar. One they were a safe distance from _the Damnation_, the ship hung in the vacuum and Ven pressed several buttons in order. "Disengaging VToL, adjusting to cruising speed." She pushed up on the throttle lever, soon intended to function for the hyperdrive.

Acceleration hit them like a blanket, smothering them as the ship sped up. The engine whined and shook the cockpit. Above them, _the Crackle_ drew away from them at increasing speeds, until they passed the tip and it was gone from sight. They continued accelerating, heading further away from the ship until it was no more than a mere speck.

Starkiller sat back in his chair as he watched the stars zip past, much like they would in hyperspace, except without trails. With only a rudimentary hyperdrive, the plan was for the ship accelerate to a point that allowed excess energy to be bled into the hyperdrive, allowing them to seamlessly enter hyperspace like they would with a proper machine. It angered Starkiller that it would take so long to arrive, but he knew this is the price he paid for putting off repairing the ship for so long.

The ship flew on and after an hour or so, Jun entered the cockpit. He was still wearing his officer greys, sans his jacket and cap while a towel hung around his neck. His hair was damp, and his eyes still had the glazed look of a man still in a slumber. He looked at Starkiller, locking eyes fiercely with him before walking to the remaining seat.

"My lord," he said, sitting down. He rubbed at his hair with the towel, shaking droplets onto the floor.

The dark lord turned to face him fully and sat forward. "I hope you are not going into the city dressed like that, lieutenant?" he enquired.

Smirking, the officer copied his movement and said, "Do not worry, my lord. I have a suitable disguise that will relegate me into the scum you desire. I trust you are fine with a bounty hunter at your side?"

"I am." He swivelled round. "When will we arrive?"

"At our current speed, it will take seventy-two hours, my lord," Chasta said, monitoring one of the readings. She'd unzipped her jacket and one of the sleeves was slowly slithering off her shoulder. A bitter feeling rose in Starkiller and he immediately wished to leave. "Once we reach the optimal velocity in four hours, that will allow us to engage the hyperdrive, which will then reduce it to less than seven."

"I see." He rose from his seat and spoke to both occupants. "I will retire to my chamber to meditate. Should anything happen, inform me immediately. That is all."

And with that, the dark apprentice left the confines of the cockpit. In the hallway, it was isolating, but it didn't matter. What was there to gain from interacting with those two?

…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Galen awoke, a soft, dim light filling his vision. Before him lay the ceiling of his chamber, a plain and glossy black. Within, a man stared back at him, youthful, with short cropped hair and focused eyes. He locked eyes with the man, staring him down until it became apparent that he had been fighting his reflection. His senses returned to him, lucidity taking control as he sat up and swung his legs off the cot. Galen leaned forward and cradled his head.

With a deep breath, the man blew a heavy sigh, a relief of what he had just witnessed. That dream he…no, that _vision, _had been distressing and shook Galen to his core. Every aspect of it had felt so real, so tangible to the point that he had been fooled to believe it was reality. The solitude, the pain and stress, he didn't think he could bear something like that. Thankfully, it wasn't the case. The vision soon gradually began to subside. Now he was ready.

As he rose from his cot, Galen noticed the garb he was wearing and gave it a double take. His usual attire, his training gear, was already on him, fully fitted and ready for a mission. Confusion ran through his mind, as he was certain he'd removed it the night before. He tugged at a loose strand and it came free, snapping off before the rest of it followed. Odd. The training last night must have intense, to the point that taking it off would have been a bother. That had to be it. Even his boots were still on.

Convinced by his reasoning, Starkiller left the room, retrieving his lightsabre on the way out. As he walked through the hallway, he motioned at the door he approached, using the force the depress the switch and it opened just as he reached it. But the sight beyond made him freeze in place.

A black tower stood in the doorway, grand, intimidating and imposing on the young man, who looked at him with wide eyed reverence. The rhythmic, respiratory breathing that filled the air spread his presence beyond just his physical body, creating the impression that he was everywhere all at once. The young apprentice bowed his head and knelt.

"My lord," he said repentantly, sensing the frustration that resided within his master. The tension between them grew as the Sith folded his arms.

"You have failed me again, my apprentice," Darth Vader said, his voice a deep, resounding baritone of an elegance never seen. An anger underlaid his tone, mild compared to his other frustrations. "Your training was supposed to begin an hour ago and yet you were nowhere to be found. I do not have time for your tardiness, young man! Why?"

"Forgive me, master. I…" he said hesitantly, biting his tongue. He threw his fear to the side and bit his lip instead. "I overslept. I'm sorry."

"Why did you oversleep?" interrogated the Sith, his anger rising in his voice. "What is your reason?!"

"My master, I…" he stammered, losing the words he so dearly needed. Finding the resolve to do so, Galen lifted his chin and looked his master dead in the eye. "I had a vision, Lord Vader. I am sorry, I could not overcome it."

He held his stare, watching his master for any sudden moves. Fear gripped his heart, clutching it with a bony hand. If worst came to worst, he could use that fear to repel his master and perhaps find some reconciliation. The clock ticked on, each second dragging by.

Slowly, but surely, the anger within the dark lord subsided and the tension in the man's body vanished. Blinking at him, Starkiller felt the fear diminish too and he suppressed a sigh of relief. Vader motioned at him with a hand.

"I will forgive this incident, boy, but do not think I will be so lenient in future." Starkiller rose to his feet, keeping his gaze lowered. "Come with me. Your droid is waiting."

With that, Vader turned on his heel and strode down the hall. Starkiller followed, matching his pace effortlessly. But as they continued, an odd feeling rose within him, questioning the situation. Something was different about Vader, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. Something was…off. He kept a close eye on his master, ready for any sudden attacks.

"So, what did you see?" he asked the man, without so much as a glance in his direction. Confused by the vague question, Galen was about to enquire what he meant, before the realisation was made apparent to him.

"I'm, not entirely sure myself, master," he began, sullenly. "My memory of it is hazy and distorted and I'm unable to make any sense of it."

"Then tell me what you can. Any sensation, glimmer or sound you may remember, release. With any luck, it will come back to you," he demanded, sneaking a sideways glance at Starkiller. The man pondered for a moment, straining his memory as he pieced the puzzle back together.

"I remember…I remember there was pain. Not, excruciating, but it was there, like it was constant." His voice grew heavy and the attention from his master was palpable. "I was alone, with nothing, and yet I was prominent. I remember rage, hatred and contempt. I remember a ship, but it was alien to me. And my hands…" He looked down at them, half expecting vicious talons to burst from the tips.

"And? What about me? Where was I?"

"No." He shook his head. "You weren't there. I only remember myself being there, no one else."

"I see," Vader rumbled. His attention turned away from Starkiller and they came up on another door. It opened as they approached and revealed what was inside. The two of them entered.

A circular room lay on the other side, barren with a floor resistant to lightsabres. It was wide, measuring at least eighteen metres in diameter. Except for the door, no other details presented themselves. It was more barren than the bridge of the Executor, sans the command pits.

A training room, designed for Starkiller to practice his form in the safety of Imperial space. One similar room existed on one of the front prongs of the Rogue Shadow, providing plenty of space for him to put his abilities to use. Starkiller walked into the centre of the room and looked around. There weren't any places to hide, but he couldn't see PROXY anywhere. Had he received a stealth upgrade?

"Master, you said PROXY would be here, didn't you?" he asked, turning to his master. Vader was continuing a leisurely stroll towards the centre, hands clasped behind his back. In an odd way, he looked completely innocent, like a retired soldier out for a walk.

"I did, but it appears he seems to have abandoned us. Perhaps he grew tired of you beating him and decided to find a new master?" he suggested playfully, reaching his apprentice. He stood a step behind him, leaning his visor close to the man. Starkiller scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning away.

"I doubt that. PROXY is too dead set on killing me to ever decide to run off. He has to be hiding around here somewhere." He laughed, a soft chuckle from the centre of his chest. He enjoyed the moment, but, once again, an odd feeling rose up in his chest, this time mixed with paranoia and alarm. He felt like he'd been in a situation like this before.

"That would be a wise suggestion, were it not for the fact it's wrong," he said, his tone darkening.

"Huh? Why's that?"

"Because," he leaned in close, right to his ear, "I killed him."

Sensing the danger, Starkiller jumped away from Vader, barely evading the igniting blade set straight for his chest. Shock overtook him, freezing him momentarily before his wits returned and he ignited his own lightsabre, swinging powerfully at Vader. Prepared, the Sith met Starkiller with a block, locking blades with him and creating a fantastic display of sparks. But, as Starkiller struggled to contain his master's immense strength, he knew it wasn't enough. Quickly overpowering him, Vader knocked the apprentice back, utilizing the force to send him stumbling. Starkiller staggered, almost tripping over his own feet but regained his footing. He raised his sabre.

As he stared at Vader, he found he was panting heavily, despite the brief lock of blades. He shook off the haze clouding his mind.

"You're lying," he said uncertainly. "You'd never do something like that, not even to PROXY."

The lord lowered his hand and raised his lightsabre in a firm, double grip. "If that is what you believe, then you understand me less than I had thought," he said. "You're still weak, my apprentice, I cannot have that. If you can defeat me, you will prove your worth to me. You will live."

Starkiller brought his sabre close to his face. "And if I lose?"

"Then you will die."

Starkiller grit his teeth, refusing to believe what he was hearing. It was unlike his master to destroy those that didn't pose a threat to him, only striking back when the situation called for it. He shook his, struggling to get his thoughts in order. This had to be another test, it had to be. There wasn't any way he could look at it. And if Vader was being sincere about his words, then he would have to fight for his life, using every ounce of the dark side he had. The sooner he could finish this, the better.

Deactivating his lightsabre, Starkiller stared at his master, letting his words circle through his head. Resentment grew from their seeds, boiling into anger that grew and grew with untold proportions. He fuelled the emotion more and more, until he felt his skin boil at the seams. Then, raising his arms toward Vader, he funnelled the energy through his limbs, a blinding light flashing from his fingertips.

"I'll kill you, then," he yelled. Lightning burst forth, filling the room in a deafening roar of thunder. Bolts arced all over, centralising on Vader as violent crackles filled the air. But, as the attack reached the dark lord, his red blade disappeared, and the excess was caught in his hands, contained. Taken aback, Starkiller fuelled more anger into his attack, feeling it coursing through his arms like boiling sand. The lightning intensified, growing darker and louder, colouring a vile shade of purple. But it was working. Vader staggered back from the attack, groaning from the sheer power as he was overpowered. But he wasn't the only one being affected; smoke rose from the apprentice's arms, his body becoming heavy. But he couldn't stop now.

As he continued, the power of his lightning diminished, returning back to its blue hue. Vader, seeing the opportunity, acted immediately, swinging his arms high, orbs of electricity swirling around his hands. Then, in a tremendous show, he threw his arms out, sending lightning in a massive blast across the room. Unprepared for the sudden counter, the lightning hit Starkiller before he could create a defence, disrupting every muscle in body. He stood spasming, twitching awkwardly as an invisible force lifted him off the floor and slammed him into the ceiling above. With the tremors subsiding, Starkiller let out a cry of pain, before he was peeled off the ceiling and thrown into the furthest wall. He gasped, pain spreading through his body as he couldn't tell whether bones had fractured or not. He was then dragged back into the centre of the room, left to tumble across the floor. He arrived at Vader's feet, who looked down his nose at him, almost pitifully.

"Get up," he demanded, reigniting his lightsabre. "We are not done here."

Unsteadily rising to his feet, Starkiller checked himself for any fractures, wincing before he prodded suspected injuries. To his surprise, he was in good health, with still a fresh mind and strong bones. At least, for the time being, but the pain still remained. He glared at Vader, suspicious as to why he wasn't dead yet. That was a prime opportunity, but he had failed to seize it. Why?

When he went to reignite his lightsabre, he found it missing, spotting it sitting across the room. He reached out to it, watching it quiver as he clutched it with the force and grin as it flew back into his hand. A red blade burst forth and he adopted an adequate block, capable of providing enough power to cleave Vader in two.

Vader advanced, swinging up as he increased his pace. Starkiller parried it, buying him a second to deflect the second blow as he stepped back and opening Vader up for attack. He swung wide, a broad sweeping sideways arc, but it still missed. The tip singed Vader's chest controls, hissing as he retreated. Starkiller bit his lip, angry at the dark lord's quick wits. He made ready to attack again. He stepped forward.

He leapt forward, slashing at Vader. Anticipating the attack, Vader blocked it, scoffing at his apprentice. Then, retracting his blade, Starkiller spun on the spot, passing his sword into the other hand as he twirled and flourished it at Vader. The dark lord kept up with the attacks, but only barely. The apprentice was moving too fast for, as he continued to twirl and flourish, pirouetting like a ballerino. As the attack continued, more openings appeared on Vader, where his lightsabre couldn't reach. Finished with the routine, Starkiller swung at Vader, striking his sword arm. As the Sith swung to intercept the attack, he withdrew his blade, flicking it into a traditional grip and swinging down once more.

The attack landed, generating sparks in a fabulous show. Starkiller jumped back, victorious and smiling. But, as the smoke cleared, he felt disappointment grow in him. Much to his displeasure, the attack had been shallow, a result of Vader predicting that also and retreating at the last minute. What should have been a finishing strike ended up being a small gash on his glove. Starkiller bit his lip again, with such a ferocity that it squirmed out in mercy in fear of being burst.

"You continue to fail me, my apprentice," Vader said, straightening out. "Once more, you've proven yourself to be predictable and lazy. In this state, you will be unfit for the duties I desire of you." He raised his blade, the red glow illuminating the eyes of his helmet. "You do not deserve to live. You are a failure and a weakling. You should be with your father, dead and among people who may find use of you."

The camel's back broke, his lip burst, and blood seeped into Starkiller's mouth. He let his anger flow wildly, bubbling like a pot of lava, even though he knew he should contain. Vader was mocking, provoking him into acting rashly. He should remain calm, collect his thoughts and…

"Rrraaaarrrgh!" He leapt forward; sabre high above his head. He swung down at Vader, the Sith effortlessly dodging the attack. Recovering for another fierce attack, Starkiller rose, teeth gritted but the red blade coming towards him stopped him in his tracks. He scrambled away, stepping back, but it was too late.

Vader drew his crimson blade across Starkiller's chest, burning the place it struck with a crackling hiss. Starkiller cried out, pain flowing forth in a tsunami of sensation and he collapsed to his knees. The wound burned, sending pain stabbing throughout his body. It was deep, reaching at least his ribs by the way it chewed into him. He groaned and moaned, quivering to his feet.

As he gasped for breath, the sound of a lightsabre deactivating reached his ears, surprising him. Looking up, he saw Vader hang his weapon on his belt and straighten out. Frustration emanated from him, but so did impatience. A build up of power alarmed Starkiller, bringing with them sensations to come.

"This is taking too long," he declared, swinging his arms up. "It's time I finished this."

He swung down, blasting the floor with force energy. The ground beneath him cracked, spreading out towards to the edges, growing larger and larger with each passing second. They spread throughout the entire room, refusing to stop until they covered the entire ceiling. Starkiller gaped at the sight, confusion spreading through him, before a crash sounded throughout the room and he found himself falling into a black featureless void, pieces of the room following with him.

…

Starkiller spun as he fell, his head spinning and stomach knotting with each rotation. A dizzy spell came over him and he wasn't entirely sure which way was up anymore, his panicked panting ceasing as he groaned with sickness. He wanted this to end.

As if granting his wish, he collided with stone hard ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. He groaned heavily as he lay face down, blinking away the sickness and exhaustion that had come over him. He lay there for a while, regaining his strength as he observed his surroundings. He grew concerned. He didn't know where he was.

Rising to his feet, he discovered he was on a circular platform, crafted from moonstone. Beyond the rim of the platform was the black void he'd tumbled into, seemingly constricting any sound that entered it. No sign of the arena he'd been in, the Executor or anything he recognized was nearby, not even a star. Where was he?

Behind him, the whooshing of a lightsabre igniting reached his ears, prompting him to ignite his own. Striding out of the void, trailed by some sort of fog, came Darth Vader, relaxed with his lightsabre held low. Starkiller assumed a stance, expecting the Sith to attack. But he stood there, static like a statue. Starkiller felt his own impatience building within.

"Is this another part of your test?" he called, receiving silence. "Well?!"

Rather than answer, Vader dispensed silence to his apprentice. He swayed lightly where he stood and kept his gaze focused on the man. Starkiller bit back a bark, a stab of pain shooting up from his wound. He was mocking him again, testing his resolve. The gall on the dark lord was unbearable, but impressive how he could evoke such emotions without a word. Starkiller gathered every last bit of anger within him and dashed forward.

"Fine, I'll finish this then!" Once more he swung, brimming with confidence. His crimson blade drew closer to the unprepared Vader, ready to decapitate him in a single strike. He will prevail and take his rightful place as the Emperor's lieutenant.

The attack landed and Vader's head was separated from his body. However, as the blade left his body, the same black vapor trailed after it as the Sith's head remained where it was without its neck. Starkiller blinked at the sight as the body began to disappear into vapor, bewilderment travelling through his mind. It took him a second to realise that had been an illusion, to trick him and sully him into a trap. But by then, it was too late, and Vader's lightsabre was already protruding from his chest.

With a violent tug, the dark lord removed his blade as the apprentice collapsed onto his knees, wheezing in horror. The sound of the weapon deactivating reached his ears, reviving a minor hope in Starkiller, but knew it was only a matter of time until he died from the shock. In a desire to stand when he died, he rose to his feet and turned to his master. But, instead of the asthmatic frame of the Darth, there were only fading wisps of black vapor.

"M…master?" he called out, desperate. "Where are you?"

He staggered back, clutching his wounds as a rumble sounded through the void. Panic set in, riddling with the shock that was already fraying his mind. The sound continued, shifting into a gargantuan groaning of metal followed by a crash, then the sound of something flowing.

Unbeknownst to him, the ground beneath Starkiller's feet dissolved into sand, pouring deeper into the void beneath him. As the dissolution spread outwards, Starkiller lost his footing, slow to react and realising it much too late. He fell again, crying out in terror, but only being met with silence.

However, much to his surprise, the fall was shorter than he had expected, and landed heavily on a pile of sand after several seconds of falling. As he sat there, grains of sand continued to fall from above, coating his wounds and getting in his hair, putting up with it despite the discomfort. Much of his energy had been spent and he sat on the precipice of unconsciousness, heavy and exhausted. The trials he was being put through were nothing like he had endured before, straining him beyond his own comprehension. He beginning to think that Vader wasn't testing him at all, whatever that reason may be.

He needed to leave this place, wherever it was and make his way back to the Executor. If he could reach the Rogue Shadow and power it up before anyone noticed, then he could get away from Vader for good. Whether that was a good or bad thing, he wasn't sure, but that was all that occupied his mind. He mustered some strength and sat up.

"I've got to get out of here," he said, brushing sand out of his hair. "Got to find PROXY, if he's still alive. He'll help."

As he shifted to get up, a bony, scolding hand wrapped itself around his ankle, hissing as it made contact. Starkiller yelled at the contact, almost jumping out of his skin, then screamed at the fire passing into him. He kicked at whatever had grabbed on with his foot, desperate to free himself and stop the pain. After several powerful kicks, the hand was released and Starkiller scrambled back. His ankle screamed out in agony at him, the fabric of dress soldered to his skin. He breathed slowly, listening intently to the whirring of motors and clicking of joints coming from that direction. Was it a droid?

Then, a hand reached up, a skeletal, metallic hand that glimmered with dripping water. It came down on the sand, hissing again as vapor rose between its fingers. Then, following the hand, came a familiar, oddly shaped head with yellow glowing eyes. It cocked its head at Starkiller as he stared at the crater that had been inflicted on one side.

"PROXY?" he asked, conflicting emotions arising within him. Vader had said he was dead, slain by his hand, and yet here he was. Had it all been a lie?

"Oh, master. It is good to see you again," he said cheerfully, drawing closer. Wisps of smoke rose off the droids back as the shine of his exoskeleton increased. He placed a hand down in front of Starkiller's crotch, the sand hissing violently under the touch. "You won't believe how much I've missed you."

He drew closer and the heat radiating from the droid was unbearable, causing Starkiller to burst into a sweat faster than being near a sun. There was no doubt about it, PROXY was in meltdown, as shown by the greater density of smoke rising off his back, his joints hissing violently. Now, the metal comprising the droids body adopted a dull glisten, sagging under its own weight in ugly droplets. The heat increased and PROXY's movements became sluggish.

"PROXY, get back!" he warned, scrambling back. But the droid had him pinned already and straddled the apprentice. With nowhere to go, Starkiller shielded his face from the oncoming lava coming towards him, in sluggishly growing stalactites. Scolding drops of liquid metal burned into his flesh, digging in with seething corrosion. He bit back a scream, denying himself the weakness.

"Fiinaaaly," he drawled, his vocal systems likely failing from the extreme heat. "I get the chaaance to kill you myyyseeeee…"

PROXY shut down, his circuits blowing with minute lightshows. Then, across his body, tiny bursts of flame erupted all over him, flickering as he sunk lower in the sand and closer to Starkiller, his face mere inches away. Desperate to get away from the heat, the apprentice took hold of the droid by the shoulders, ignoring the scolding pain and lifted him out of the sand. He cried out in agony, in desperation and determination as his hands hissed into nerve death, raising the droid higher and higher until its hands came free of the sand and he threw the stiffened body to the side. There, with its arms and legs locked in place, it sunk into the sand, which hissed into flame. Starkiller rose to his feet, eager to get away from the heat. He hopped off the small pile of sand, landing firmly on solid ground. It seemed to stretch on forever, as opposed to the arena he had fallen through. It filled him with promise, at the least.

He looked at his hands, still grimacing at the pain from the burns of the blistering skin. Even now, smoke or vapor trailed off the blisters and throbbed agonizingly. They were a mess, with blackened or cooked skin, warped proportions and a vile stench of ruined pork. His stomach turned with the smell, difficult to believe that it was his own flesh that it was coming from. He could still move his fingers, but he lacked sensation as his nerves had been burned out and the skin was tender and irritable and hurt to the touch, even without the current pain. He'd need some bacta for this fast, unless he wanted them to end up like his master. But, PROXY…

He looked back at the melting droid, now reduced to nothing more than a molten pile of metal. Few features could be discerned about him now - apart from knee joints that still curved and the ocular devices on the front of his head - making it certain that he was past the point of returning. Starkiller turned away from the sight, struggling to process what he had just seen. A multitude of emotions ran through him, from sorrow and grief to confusion and a form of joy, overloading him questions. Vader had said he'd killed PROXY, with such a conviction that it had seemed true, but here was the smouldering remains of said droid. Had he lied? Had it been part of the test? Whatever the case, he couldn't dwell here. He needed to escape.

Starkiller was about to set off when he heard a set of footsteps clapping unevenly out in the void, setting off alarm bells in his mind. He reached for his lightsabre, finding nothing but air and froze. _Shit. _He must have dropped it on his way down here, meaning it must be somewhere nearby, so long as it hasn't rolled _too _far. If this was a threat, he would have to deal with it the old-fashioned way, which didn't worry him as much. The footsteps were too out of order to be Vader's, so it couldn't be him to finish him off.

He flexed his fingers, wincing at the pain. His best bet was to shock the threat, if that's what it was, since that could immobilize it and give him time to escape. But the extra toll it would take on him could ruin his hands for good, seeing what state they were in now.

Shoving the worry into the back of his mind, he focused on what was before him. He would cross that bridge once he got there. He raised his hands, ignoring the aching as he extended his fingers and waited. He could just about make out a shadow in the mist.

As it grew closer, he could make out it's shape. It looked like a man, but the loose and tattered strands of clothing made him appear dishevelled and far gone into hopelessness. The slight bulk added to him by his armour made him appear larger, but only more like a lumbering fool than any real warrior and the unsteady movements of him, taking one step and then falling heavily onto the next, added onto that by making him appear a drunk. But, despite the confusion Starkiller still felt in him, a sense of ease and familiarity spread within him, softening the coarse emotions he'd felt earlier.

Then, the figure stumbled out of the mist, revealing the blind folded face of a battered old man. Starkiller scanned the man for a minute, stepping back as he continued advancing until it all clicked into place. He remembered now, he remembered who he was. He…trained under him, even though the memories of that are absent. Not only that, the memories of their meeting were vague too, almost like they were yet to happen. He struggled to make sense out of any of this.

"Kota?" he called out, uneasy despite the familiar presence. Kota turned his attention towards him, his head cocking minutely as he stopped advancing. He reached out a hand.

"Boy?" he replied, sighing in relief. "Oh, thank the force you're alive. After all that, with the Rogue Shadow," he laughed, suddenly upbeat, "I thought we were goners."

"Yes, that's great general, but there's another problem," he groaned, limping closer. He lowered his hands, putting a hand to the wound on his chest. "Do you have any idea where we are? I haven't been able to feel anything since coming here, not even a living thing. How about you?"

Kota turned to him, with his eyeless look, and shook his head. "I don't know. But I have a bad feeling about this."

As he said that, he tensed up, letting out a blood curdling scream of terror, agony and shock as purple lightning coiled all around his body. Starkiller retreated, shocked too as the man contracted and arched his back as he called out for help. Desperate to save his friend, Starkiller scanned the area for anybody, both with his eyes and the force, but couldn't find a source for the lightning. He panicked, tried to bring the lightning to him, but failed. Kota continued to suffer as the lightning increased, shocking him to the point he couldn't speak, until it eventually stopped.

Wide eyed with anticipation, Starkiller watched as smoke rose off the man, disappearing into the void above. Kota stood there, frozen in the position he'd last been in, until his arms fell to the side and he dropped to his knees, falling flat on his face with all the dignity of a peasant's burial. Starkiller couldn't do anything but watch with his jaw on the floor, unable to comprehend the sudden death of a friend so dear. He felt like weeping, tried to, but couldn't. He didn't know why, even as he slumped to his knees.

He sat there, prostrate on all fours as he stared at the ground. What was this place and why these things happening? Why was it happening in the first place and why him, why Starkiller? Was it something he did? Whatever the reasons may be, he suspected he wouldn't find them here, wherever here was. But, rising to his knees, he could hear a hissing and the sound of something gurgling. He looked up to Kota's body, seeing nothing of note until he spotted the skin rippling under his clothes. He looked closer, curious as to what was happening but instantly regretted the decision. In an instant, the skin burst beneath his clothes, splattering like boiling water. The pustules moved to the rest of his body, some breaking the fabric and sending boiling blood across the floor while others failed to do so and simply leaked onto the floor. Starkiller watched in horror as his friend exploded before him like a sick science display, popping and hissing like food being heated.

It was becoming too much to bear and Starkiller hurried to his feet, rushing away from the body. As the sounds and smells of the body dissipated, the void turned to silence once again, and only the sound of the apprentice's footsteps were all that filled the space. It became lonely again, with the pain returning to mind with the sights he'd just bore witness to, his hands and chest calling out. It began to overload him again, breaking apart his mind with simple tools of grief. It became all he focused on, so much so that he wondered where he was when the sound of discussion snapped him out of it.

"Yes, my lord, I'll get it done," came a female voice to his left, articulated with a Coruscanti accent. "The squadron will be ready when you want them. Callos will be ours."

He turned to the voice, fear tightening his throat as respiratory breathing emerged from the dark. There, was Darth Vader, intimidating in his all black armour, his presence made wider by the cape that he wore. Starkiller felt his knees almost buckle at the sight of him, not knowing why he was suddenly so scared, but hardly eager to fight, either. But standing before the Sith, dressed in her black officer's uniform, tall and straight backed like any other Imperial, was a woman, seemingly fearless before man before her. The platinum blonde hair bundled under her cap shimmered softly in the bizarre light, like diamonds hidden in pearls. Starkiller remembered immediately who she was, every titbit of their meeting and the last time he ever saw her. He started towards them, panic in his throat.

"Juno, no!" he yelled, reaching out. "Get away from him, he's dangerous!"

As if reacting to him like she was hearing the voice of an old friend, her head snapped to the side. She turned on her heel, revealing her soft eyes laden with a similar surprise. Starkiller felt his heart almost stop when his feet did, a calm warmth seeping over him as their eyes met. For the brief seconds that they stared at each other it felt as if three eternities had passed. Then she blinked.

"Galen?" she managed to get out, before a crimson blade shot up out of her chest, robbing the air from her. Starkiller cried out, watching her look down at the blade before it was violently yanked out her chest and she fell to the ground with a smoking wound. Galen collapsed on the floor, on the verge of tears as he cursed at everything that had been taken from him. He hit the ground, he ground his teeth, he cursed his master and the Empire…but above all he cursed himself.

He remembered now, the events that lead up to the crucial moment that lead to his demise at the hands of the Emperor, the friends he had betrayed by giving into his temptations and the things he had lost because of it. He remembered as he brought his hands to bear, deathly pale, tipped with knives and one replaced with a horrifying prosthetic. He hadn't realised when the change had taken place, but then again, had there really been a change at all?

He fell silent, accepting his fate as his skin grew paler and scarred, metal replacing lost bone, a machine replacing his inability to breathe and a helmet encasing itself around his head, to protect the world, and himself, of the monster he became. And it was all to a symphony of mocking breathing.

…

Lord Starkiller knelt in the void, watching as the last of the modifications returned him whole.

He remembered everything now, and even if he didn't, any question he had could be answered by his body. The scars, the prosthetics, the armour, it was all his to bear, as punishment for his mistake, the failure he'd promised to overcome. All of it was a bondage to the Emperor, his chains and leash. He didn't deserve anything else.

Breathing reached his ears, overpowering his own rickety rhythm and drew closer. This time, without fear, apprehension or reluctance, he looked up and found Vader approaching him. Instead, he only felt, apathy.

He knew why he was coming. Vader was coming to mock him, to ridicule him for all he's done, rubbing it in as much as he can. It was deserved and fair justice as far as anyone would be concerned. Starkiller lowered his head, not out of respect, but of boredom and disinterest. He wanted to get this over and done.

Vader reached him, the sound of his arm folding reaching his ears.

"It is as I suspected; you are still much too weak," he said, voice seething with anger like a fuming schoolteacher. "You may have defeated me, but you have failed to surpass me. You bring shame onto the rule of two and have proven yourself an embarrassment not only to me, but the Sith order itself. I am ashamed to have ever called you my apprentice."

"Forgive me, Lord Vader," he said, dull as a doornail, rasping metallically. "My powers have weakened since the surgeries, and I-…"

"Enough! Your pitiful excuses hold no interest in me," he interjected, cutting the cyborg off with no remorse. "I expect you to understand the gravity of your situation, as the Sith bear no qualms about discarding the weak. Should you expect to survive beyond your second year, you had best develop your strength and prove your worth, lest you wish to be discarded by the Emperor like I was."

Starkiller nodded, just barely paying attention to the lecture. Something was on his mind. "I understand, my lord."

"Good," Vader said, satisfied. He raised a finger and held it towards Starkiller. "Now, I want you to listen carefully, or else-…"

"My lord," he interjected, raising his head, "are you real?"

He fixed his eyes on Vader with an iron, careless gaze as he watched the Sith lord retracted suddenly in surprise. The man's body language displayed he was taken aback by the question and it was obvious he was confused by it, even without the force. Starkiller felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, or what was left of it, as he expected a lash of retribution from the Sith. He waited in anticipation, for it to come or not.

But, much to his surprise - or dismay - calm spread throughout the man and he put his hands on his hips.

"I am," he said, with a slight nod. With that, it felt like an anvil had been lifted off Starkiller's shoulders and he could speak freely again, but in the presence of his master…

"Then, what was that just now?" he asked, stammering the words out. He heard a sigh come from Vader, a rare occurrence, as he continued.

"Illusions, manifestations of your failings," he said bluntly. "Betrayal, treachery, dishonour. They maintain such a grip on you that you will never be free of them, forever trapped beneath the weight of your actions. And they will only strengthen your chains."

"I see. I understand now." In reality, he didn't understand, and only said that to fill the silence. Vader knew he was lying, as he didn't try to hide it. "But why? Why me? Why must I see all that again?"

Then, in the rarest of gestures, Vader shrugged. "A test of strength, a test of mind and a test of will, all to test your character." He looked down his nose at him, difficult to tell he was sneering without the force. "It's clear to say you have failed, even in the aftermath of it, as you continue grovel at my feet like the dog you were."

Starkiller bit his lip, feeling frustration grow at the jeer, but he knew it to be true all the same. He hadn't changed, remaining an underling long into his ascension. He wondered if he could be redeemed, if it was even possible. Not that he'd want to.

"But that is in the past now. We have business to tend to."

The rustling of Vader's suit reached his ears and he looked up to see the dark lord extending a hand towards Starkiller. Taken aback, Starkiller blinked at the gesture, sluggishly processing what should be simple data. After a second, he reached out, hesitantly taking the hand in a firm grip. He was hoisted to his feet, feeling a growing sense of unease from Vader's mood change, masking it as best he could.

He planted his feet, brushing off his skirt as he turned to him. "What happens now?"

Vader's faceplate stared back at him, silently breathing as he measured Starkiller up. With a muffled sound, he nodded.

"Now, we talk. There is much to discuss, but little time to do so." He inclined his head. "I trust you have read up on your target?"

Cocking his head in confusion, Starkiller opened his mouth to ask how the dark lord knew of that but closed it. Considering the things he'd seen already, there likely was little to gain by asking that question. He nodded.

"I have. Ashoka Tano, former Jedi Padawan, aged in her late twenties," he recited, extracting the information perfectly from memory. "A survivor of many battles during the clone war and an exemplary starfighter pilot, known for her somewhat unorthodox fighting ability." On the fringe of his senses, he detected a light simmering of anger from Vader. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he readied himself for any lash of anger. "Do you know her?"

But much to his surprise, the emotions died down. "Yes, you can say that. To an extent," Vader said reluctantly, sounding as if he was holding something back. Starkiller's interest was piqued. "But if that is all you know, then you will be going into battle half as prepared as you could be. Even with the dark side with you, there is a chance you could fail."

The apprentice held his hands out to the side. "I'm ready to learn."

"Good." He extended a finger. "Know that she isn't a Jedi anymore, and that she has forsaken the teachings. However, she is different from the rest of the survivors. She departed the order long before the purge, after…an _incident_." Vader practically spat that final word, imbued with venom like it was poison for him to speak. "She will be unlike any of the Jedi you have faced before. While she no longer retains her bonds to the order, she is still a warrior of the light. Her will is strong and her sense of justice even more so. If you wish to have any hope of defeating her, you will have to break that will." His voice deepened and became heavy. For a moment, it seemed almost as if he'd lost his voice. "Find her friends, whoever they may be, and kill them. Tano is passionate and with luck, she will be encouraged to take revenge. That will be your moment to strike."

He threw a hand up and snatched at the air, punctuating his point. Nodding sagely, Starkiller absorbed the information attentively. Already, he could feel the gears in his mind turning and his plans changing.

"That will all be considered. I understand a surgical will be optimal for this scenario." A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, disappearing once another question appeared on his lips. "What can I expect when I face her, Darth? What of her skills?"

Vader straightened up and placed his hands on his belt. "Expect her to be fierce. Agility is on her side, and while you are faster than I, she is faster still. She will put distance you, whether by height or no." A pause as he readjusted. "I suggest you make use of your lightning. That will stop her and allow you to strike. But be cautious. She is a practitioner of shien, and while I believe your skills to be higher, she will counter your attacks. Do not let this surprise you. Adapt when necessary and overcome the obstacles. This applies to a duel just as much as it does to your powers. Do not do anything you will regret."

With a huff, he was finished. "That is all. Should there be anything more you require, you know where to find me. I hope." He waved a hand. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"

Upon the suggestion, Starkiller searched his mind for dire information, wracking his brain. However, despite all the serious concerns that gradually fell by the wayside, one thought of genuine, innocent curiosity peaked among all the others and soon found itself on his lips.

"Yes," he said. "What's your relationship with Tano?"

Freezing, Vader stared at Starkiller, possibly even glaring with the emotions rising from him. But as he spoke in a reluctant, heavy tone, it was apparent the anger and spite weren't directed at Starkiller.

"She was…my apprentice," he said slowly, looking towards the floor. "My first one. Like you, were. She was assigned to me during the clone wars, and we bonded strongly. On the battlefield, we were one and the same." Vader sounded distant and nostalgic. But that changed as a rise of anger grew in him. "But after an _incident, _handled by fools, she left the order and never returned." He brought his head up and locked eyes with Starkiller. "You reminded me of her, in a way. I feel, that in a different time, you would have been inseparable."

The apprentice fell silent, struggling to find his voice in the melancholic state. As he continued to exchange stares with the dark lord, he broke off, looking around as he wondered how to return to the Rogue Shadow.

"So, how do I leave?"

And then he awoke from his restless slumber.

…


	6. Chapter 6

Cool air nipped at Starkiller's arms as he awoke, roused from his slumber. His numb muscles ached dully as he blinked the sleep away, failing to recognize the skeletal and drab chamber which he found himself. His withered heart lay at rest, for now, until a fragment of his dream re-entered his mind, the crimson blade piercing his chest, setting it into a frantic gallop as he jumped to his feet.

"Juno!" he cried, reaching for his, any lightsabre, at his belt for combat. He squinted through blurry vision at the shadows dressing the room, unable to make out what was inanimate friend or foe. Fumbling around his belt, his collection of hilts was nowhere to be found, so the apprentice settled to rely on his own powers. He won't fail, not again.

A minute more passed before Starkiller's vision cleared, and the manifestations of the dark lord's shrouded form returned to the shadows cast by the fragmented wall. It took a moment more to be reminded of his place.

Mentally exhausted, he returned to his knees, recognising the ruined and incomplete walls of his meditation chamber. The decrepit and skeletal chamber was in as pitiful a state as he, hissing with the release of steam from exposed piping and wiring, the panels that would cover them gone, missing. The bleak, barely sufficient lighting that rebounded off the remaining gunmetal grey joined with the hum of the engines fill an oppressive atmosphere in the room. It would probably be more appropriate if he was in chains.

In between hollow breaths, he rested a shaky hand on his helm, razor sharp talons clacking against metal.

More of the dream returned to him, absent of meaning or understanding. It left him restless, troubled, and the longer he dwelt on it, the foggier his memory of it became. It had felt real, so tangible in the moment, that he'd been certain it was reality. The pain he'd endured still lingered, now nothing more than a dull ache. Dreams of his former master weren't a rarity since his ascension, but many, if not all, were recreations of his betrayal at his hand. Not once had they indulged in a conversation between him and Starkiller. That only warranted one question; was it a vision?

"Bad dream?" chirped a cheery voice, breaking his concentration. Both his heart and mind settled back into their usual rhythms at sensing the familiar presence. How had he missed her so badly?

He looked up, meeting a pair of tired blue eyes. The senior captain had seen better days, as shown by the dark circles under her eyes, but she looked better than most would so long without sleep. Despite her best efforts to stifle a yawn, she still maintained her composure among the minute slips in attention, holding an air that still warranted focus. In the time Starkiller had been meditating, she'd clearly been busy around the ship, stripped of her jacket to the waist to perform maintenance. A light sheen shimmered on her skin. With her hair tied into braids, she appeared more serene than when she normally did. When he didn't answer, she pulled an innocent smile.

"What do you want?" he growled, more than a deep rumble. Chagrin came over him as he realised the implication of Ven's question. How long had she been there? How much had she seen? If life was still possible in his body, he was sure his cheeks would be on fire at this, among the fire of anger in his heart. But, when it seemed like that wasn't the focus of the girl's thoughts, he relaxed a little.

Ven folded her arms, her toned arms wrapping snugly across her chest. "We're almost there, my lord. I'd thought you might want to see our arrival for yourself, but when you didn't return, I decided to check for myself."

He nodded. "How long?"

"One hour," Ven finished, before adding, "roughly."

"I see. Then I will return to the cockpit soon, captain." He paused, mouth hanging open, before he said, "Where are your boots?"

Almost looking confused herself, Ven picked up her bare foot off the floor and examined it. She planted it back down and said, "Where I'm going, I won't need boots."

Starkiller raised an eyebrow at the girl, unsure of the nature of her statement. "If you say so, captain." He waited in silence as his expectations of the girl leaving grew smaller than the buds on her chest^, impatiently watching as she remained in place. It took him only a moment to realise what she was still doing in there. "Yes? What else is it?"

"We, have a problem," she said. Her expression became mixed, torn between looking grim and tact. "Not long ago, we received a transmission bearing the official codes of the Pan Oltan Defence fleet. They've blockaded their own waters and won't allow anyone with complete or incomplete documents to enter." She sighed, a frown forming on her. "To be brief, we're stuck."

"And why does this concern me?"

"Because it wouldn't put a hydrospanner in the works if it didn't," she said rudely. "Surely you understand what this means for us?"

Still failing to grasp the concern the captain had, he cocked his head. With a depressive sigh, Ven explained the nuance and intricacies in detail. Starkiller came to understand her concern better, albeit only slightly.

"That doesn't make sense. What good would it do them to deny everyone who arrives entry, even if they have the required documents? We have the appropriate documents, why would they deny entry to us, especially Imperial agents?" Starkiller dipped his head in thought. "Are they that stubborn?"

"Yep," she nodded. He didn't need any reason to disbelieve her. Scanning her surface thoughts was evidence enough to prove the case.

He dipped his head. "How do you know this?"

She shuffled on the spot, contemplating her options. "When you see it happen more than once, you tend to notice the pattern." She smirked innocuously at him. "Wouldn't you say so, my lord?"

Starkiller squinted at her, putting the piece together. "Are you saying…"?

"Yes," she said, finishing the sentence for him, "Pan Olta is my home. I didn't think it would be important for you to know." The apprentice stared at her, idling in the midst of sorting out the minor, yet startling revelation.

"I doubt it would have changed anything," he agreed, feeling it all click into place. It made sense now, her reason for coming, if not stretching her long dormant wings, was to see her home again. Naturally, it would be constricting for any pilot to helm a Star Destroyer, so what better planet to stretch your wings on than your own home.

He was beginning to believe the captain, now. What reason would she have to possess genuine concern over what would otherwise be a minor inconvenience, aside hysteria? It only made sense to at least indulge her, in this instance.

"Very well, captain," he said, rising to his feet. He clipped his three-pronged lightsabre hilt to his belt. "You have convinced me. Lead the way."

...

The cockpit opened with a _woosh_ and Starkiller was hit with a sharp, yet musky scent as soon as he stepped foot inside. Beyond the view screen was the relaxing blue hue of hyperspace, stars both distant and near zipping by on the swirling canvas. The sight was engrossing and Starkiller found himself almost entranced by the sight. Almost.

Several maintenance panels that had previously been concealing wiring now lay open, the fragile innards of the ship hanging free. The captain's hat and boots sat on or nearby the two foremost chairs, discarded freely and messily. Scattered across the floor were the spent container of a common stimulant, drained for every last drop. It became apparent as to what was keeping Ven running for so long, as expected of a former pilot.

Heading straight for the pilot's seat, Ven hopped into the seat. Starkiller followed, but kept his distance, choosing instead to take the jump seat.

"So, captain," he uttered, "the transmission?"

Swinging around to the controls, the senior captain fiddled with the buttons for a second, before she found her prize.

A firm and stoic voice filled the cockpit, radiating authority and attention, albeit an unconvincingly shallow one. It spoke with the eagerness to pass on its message yet lacked the patience that would come with age. If Starkiller had to guess, the man speaking was a young officer, either recently graduated or given his position through inheritance.

"_Attention, all ships in the Nuwan system,  
As a result of increased anti-Imperial activity, Pan Olta has heightened its security and entered a state of emergency in combatting this menace. Any unidentified ship passing by will be stopped and investigated by the 1__st__ Defence Fleet. If you are deemed unsuitable to enter, you will be refused entry or held at a sky hook until the situation has settled._

_It is vital you ensure you present legal documentation and reason for entry. Smugglers and pirates will not be tolerated. You have been warned."_

The transmission was cut as it looped back on itself. Turning back to Starkiller, Ven folded her arms, locking eyes with him.

"So, Pan Olta is on lock down and it's a heads or tails guess on if they'll allow us in or not, no doubt because their rebels are getting feisty," she said, looking dour. "I see no way of us sneaking around the blockade or the patrols in orbit. Anything I try will either end up with us being blasted into slag or held indefinitely by the navy. I was hoping you would think of a way to skirt around this."

A talon met his chin and caressed it gently. "Perhaps." He understood her plight fully now, and had a solution, but a curiosity still niggled in the back of his mind. "However, you said they wouldn't allow Imperials in under any circumstances. An outright refusal would be suicide, so why do it? Has this ever happened before?"

Ven shrugged, a bold admission for the situation. "If it has, it was never publicized. People there tend to keep to themselves and their own troubles and those who wish to know about the wider Galaxy are those who join the Imperial academy." She ended with a flourish of her hand, indicating to herself. "Incidents like these are rare enough as it is. I only know of three similar incidents and one was during the Clone Wars."

"Yes, but to deny us entry would be denying me entry, harming Pan Olta and it's standing. Getting in the way of my mission would frame them as harbourers of enemies of the Empire and strip them of their autonomy."

"I understand but I doubt it would be an outright refusal for someone like you, my lord," Ven explained, showing her palms. "Pan Oltan's may be stubborn, but we aren't stupid. If we proceed through traditional channels, there's a chance that they'll keep us in orbit while they organise some kind 'welcoming committee' or 'royal emissary' for the duration of the incident." She held up a finger, punctuating her point. "That's the first problem. Not only are we infamously stubborn, we're also very interested in maintaining a natural process – tradition, if you will. By the time we've realised they're stalling for time to make everything presentable, it will be too late. The _Damnation _will have arrived, and the insurgents will have been spooked half-way across the planet. Finding them then will be impossible, and your contact will be useless, because who would want to fight Starkiller's Fist?

"The second problem stems from the fact that even if you were to press them about it, they'd deny the issue even exists in the first place. You may think that just because they're loyal to the Empire, doesn't mean they're going to accept help from us, even if it's the right thing to do." She threw herself back in her seat, taking a deep breath.

"Us Pan Oltans are stubborn, my lord, from the lowest of castes all the way up to those with royal blood. The Parliament is as stubborn as the people they rule, as it has been for as long as anyone can remember." She brought her nails up to inspect them. "We're very fickle about doing things ourselves and we don't accept outside help easily."

Starkiller listened to the captain carefully, considering her words with the dedication of scholar. The logic presented made ample sense and would be difficult to contest, even if the apprentice had the energy to do so. Even so, it still held elements of an imagination unleashed, but with no evidence to disprove it and little desire to be held up in his mission, the choice was ultimately made up long before Starkiller spoke.

"Very well. You've made your case," he announced after a long silence. Standing up, he moved to the co-pilot's seat. "How dangerous is this defence fleet?"

The captain's face lit up in her vindication, despite her attempts to smother it. She rotated her chair along Starkiller's route. "It varies depending on what aspect you encounter. Given that the entire planet is anal about maintaining a shred of tradition, the ships make use of either slug canons, blaster technology or both, so if it's just a single task element, then I have no doubt that we'd be capable of avoiding it. But, if it's a flotilla or patrol squadron, then they could vaporise us in seconds."

"That won't be possible if they can't detect us to begin with, captain," he settled into the jump seat, looking her in the eye. "We can make sure of that."

Stifling a smug grin, Ven cocked her head to the side, disbelief knotting her brow. "Right? And how are we supposed to do that? Use a mind trick or whatever you do on their sensors?"

"No. We use the ship's cloak."

To his surprise, Ven's head cocked even further and her eyes widened. She leaned closer, almost whispering. "We have a cloak?!"

He nodded. "It shrouds this ship from any and all sensory systems, capable of operating for several hours at peak performance," he said. "The core of the device is centred around a stygium crystal, but it is still an experimental device, meaning if left for too long, it will be irreparably damaged. And given that after the _Shadow's_ destruction it was only repaired to basic working condition, it may operate for less than the expected time before overheating."

Slumping back in her chair, Ven covered her mouth with a hand. Eyes snapping back to Starkiller, she said, "You need to tell me how that happened one day."

"One day," he lied, wishing never to return to that. "But until then, we have a mission to attend to. Have you operated a cloaking device like this before?"

She shook her head. "I've never operated a cloaking device in my life until now."

"Then, I'll show you," he said, before adding, "regrettably. See this button here…"

_..._

_^( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

_Author's Note: Apologies for the long break, things...weren't exactly going the best and my management was terrible. However, hopefully, things will go much more smoothly this decade. Hopefully._


End file.
